RIIIIIIIINNNNGG! RIIIIIII—
Smack.
A groan escaped my lips as my hand finally found the snooze button. 5:30 AM. The numbers glowed in the oppressive dark, a cruel mockery of the rest my body screamed for. My limbs were leaden, my mind still clouded with the fading, greasy remnants of the nightmare—the same one that always left me with a phantom taste of smoke and a racing heart.
Somehow, I hauled myself upright and stumbled towards the bathroom. The fluorescent light buzzed to life, a miniature supernova that seared my vision. I braced myself against the sink, the porcelain cool and unforgiving. Splashing icy water on my face did little to scrub the dream from behind my eyes. The man in the mirror stared back, a stranger with a shock of messy blond hair and crimson-webbed eyes. He looked less like a newly minted detective and more like a junkie chasing his next fix.
"I need to get it together... Can't be late on the first day."
The mantra propelled me through the motions: a scalding shower, the careful drag of a razor across my jaw, the ritual of dressing. Black pants, a crisp blue shirt, a worn leather jacket. Simple, civilian, free. My gaze drifted to the closet, where the old WCPD uniform hung like a ghost.
"Thank God I don't have to wear that polyester prison anymore," I muttered.
The memory of its itchy, suffocating embrace was still vivid. Chasing perps with that ridiculous cap perpetually threatening to take flight, the captain's voice roaring as I scrambled to retrieve it. Hanging it up for good felt like shedding a second skin.
A soft, insistent pressure brushed against my leg.
"Meow."
I glanced down. "Lucky. One of these days, you're going to scare me straight into cardiac arrest."
My cat, a sleek shadow with fur like polished obsidian and emerald eyes, looked up at me. His expression was one of profound understanding and utter indifference. He understood my words; he just didn't care.
"Breakfast time," I sighed, scooping him up.
The apartment was a shoebox—bedroom, kitchen, and that was it. No living room, no sofa, no space to breathe. But the rent was cheap, and the kitchen window offered a king's ransom: a panoramic view of Wonder City from the 27th floor. As dawn bled across the skyline, the sprawling metropolis of steel and magic stretched into the distance, a breathtaking tapestry of towering spires and humming aerial lanes.
"Meow! Meow!" Lucky demanded, already stationed on the small table.
"Premium cat food for his highness, and 'Premium Cereals' for the detective," I said, the joke falling flat even to my own ears.
We ate in our usual silence, me watching the city slowly awaken, him devouring his food as if fending off starvation. My mind, left unguarded, drifted back to the nightmare. The screaming. The blood. The all-consuming fire.
"Damn it... Some things just won't stay buried," I whispered to the empty room.
Lucky offered no reply, his head buried in his bowl. The cat ate like a beast possessed yet never gained an ounce.
"You know, Lucky," I said, trying to anchor myself in the present. "Detective's pay is better. Maybe next month we can start looking for a real place. Somewhere with a living room. What do you say?"
A twitch of his ear was my only answer. Finishing my cereal, I gave his head an affectionate scratch and cracked the kitchen window open. Lucky had his own routine. The fire escape was his personal highway; he'd climb down and patrol the neighborhood, a tiny, wild shadow. He was a street cat at heart, the scrappy kitten I'd found years ago, and I couldn't bear to lock him in all day. He was always waiting when I got home.
My new white Allstars felt like clouds compared to the standard-issue bricks I'd worn for years. I did a final pat-down: phone, wallet, keys, transfer documents. All present.
"6:15. Gonna need a miracle with this traffic."
The main station was an hour away by public transport, and I needed to be there by 7:30 for the introductory briefing. Locking the door, I turned and nearly collided with a vision.
"Oof! Sorry, Miss Sierra!"
My neighbor, Sierra, stood there, a wood elf whose beauty was a quiet, potent force. She had the face of a renaissance angel, deep green eyes that held forests in their depths, and long blonde hair that seemed to catch the dim hallway light. An aura of natural calm radiated from her, a signature of her kind.
"Theophanes! You startled me! Where's the fire?" Her voice was like wind chimes.
"Ah, sorry! New job, running late. And please, it's just Theo." I felt a familiar heat creep up my neck. My full name was a parental prank I'd been paying for my whole life.
"Right! Your promotion! I'd forgotten." She tapped a delicate finger to her temple in a gesture so adorable I nearly forgot my own name.
Crap. Can't be late. Can't be late.
"I'm so sorry, I'd love to talk, but I really have to sprint or my new boss will have my badge before I even get it!"
"Of course! Good luck—"
I was already moving, taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator was, as usual, a death trap. I made a mental note to harass the super about it again. Bursting onto the street, I was met with the city's morning symphony: honking horns, the whir of enchanted vehicles, and the rush of a thousand different species starting their day. Humans, orks, elves, and beastmen jostled on the sidewalks, while winged figures—angels, demons, birdmen—dotted the sky. A public transport miracle was impossible.
"Taxi!" I shouted, thrusting my arm out.
A pristine yellow cab slid to the curb. Inside, it smelled of lavender. The driver, a raccoon beastman in an immaculate white shirt, glanced back.
"Destination, sir?"
"WCPD Main, on Solomon Street. And if you have any shortcuts, I need to be there by 7:30."
He flashed a sharp, canine-filled smile. "No problem, sir. Barney's got you covered."
I sank into the seat, pulling out my phone to scan the news. The hot topic: another debate on sky-lane regulations. The freedom of flight was a constant security headache. My new job was about to get a lot more complicated.
We veered into an alleyway I didn't recognize.
"Shortcut, sir," Barney said, anticipating my concern. "Know this city like the stripes on my tail." He gestured to a cluster of photos on the dash—a smiling raccoon woman and three little kits. "Gotta feed the family. Five mouths is no joke."
We chatted easily about his family, his grandfather who'd been on the force, and my new role. The city blurred past, a mix of gleaming arcologies and older, soot-stained brickwork.
Before I knew it, we were pulling up to my destination. "Right on time," I said, impressed.
"Twelve-fifty," Barney said. I pulled out my wallet, but he waved a dismissive hand. "Forget it. This one's on me. You go keep the streets safe. Next time, I charge you double."
I laughed, touched. "Thanks, Barney. You're a lifesaver."
Stepping out, I turned to face the building. It was a fortress of justice, a century-old monument of granite and resolve. Two colossal pillars flanked the entrance, and carved into the black marble arch above were the words that sent a shiver down my spine: TO SERVE AND TO PROTECT.
This was it. The heart of it all. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders.
First day. Don't screw it up, Theo.
The station's interior was a cathedral of justice, a cavernous space where the echo of footsteps and murmured voices bounced off marble floors and vaulted ceilings. The air smelled of old paper, strong coffee, and the faint, clean scent of ozone from magical security fields. Directly ahead, a massive reception desk, a fortress of polished oak, bustled with activity. Five officers processed a steady stream of requests from the public. Flanking the only two entry points into the bullpen, armed officers stood watch, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd.
I approached the first available officer, a human woman with a surprisingly warm smile for someone on the dreaded desk duty.
"Hello, sir. How can I help you today?"
"Yes, hello. I'm Theophanes Adams, transferred from the 22nd. Here's my ID and transfer papers." I slid the documents across the smooth wood.
Her eyes lit up. "Oh, a colleague! One moment, please." She efficiently scanned the papers, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She then picked up a comms unit, her smile turning into a slight wince.
"Yes, sir? There's a Mr. Theopan-eez... Theo-fan-ess... I'm so sorry, how do you pronounce your name?"
I gave a reassuring wave. "Theo is fine. Everyone calls me Theo."
She nodded gratefully. "Sir, Detective Theo Adams is here... Yes, sir. Right away."
Hanging up, she handed back my documents, a faint blush still on her cheeks. "Everything checks out. Captain Thunderwound will see you in the staff meeting room on the third floor. You've got about ten minutes."
"Thank you," I said, offering a genuine smile before heading for the grand staircase.
The stairs were a monument themselves, wrought from veined marble with handrails of dark, worn mahogany.
As I climbed, I noticed a sign on the newel post: a stylized figure with wings, circled in red with a line through it. "USE STAIRS. NO FLIGHT IN HALLS."
For every absurd warning sign, there's an even more absurd story, I mused.
The climb was a workout. Each step was a good five centimeters higher than standard, clearly built a century ago for the station's first inhabitants: the Peacekeepers.
Beastmen, Lycans, and the occasional Giant required a different scale. My calves were burning by the time I reached the third-floor landing, a testament to a more physically imposing era of law enforcement.
The bullpen was a controlled chaos of sound and motion. A vast, open space was filled with desks, each a miniature fortress of case files and data-slates. To the left, a row of holding cells held a sullen assortment of perpetrators. To the right, the meeting room sat behind walls of smoked glass. At the far end, the Captain's office loomed, its door a solid slab of oak.
Not wanting to interrupt the hive of activity, I slipped into the meeting room and found an empty chair. The room was half-full, a living tapestry of Wonder City's diversity. Humans, elves with pointed ears listening intently, a gnomish woman perched on a stack of cushions, and various beastmen all chatted amiably. They were easy to spot—no uniforms, just the weary, sharp-eyed look of investigators.
"Hey! You new?" a voice chirped beside me.
I turned and found myself facing an Avian. He was my height, with the slender, elegant build of his kind, dressed in a sharp blazer and jeans. But from the neck up, he was a Great Horned Owl. Intelligent, golden eyes regarded me from a feathered face, topped with two elegant tufts.
"Sarwan Deep! Pleased to meet you!" he said, extending a hand.
I shook it, noting the soft gray feathers on its back and the carefully trimmed black talons at his fingertips. "Theo. Theo Adams."
His head tilted almost a full 180 degrees in a disconcertingly avian gesture.
"What? Never seen a Birdman before?" His tone was suddenly sharp, his grip tightening. "Am I scary? Do my eyes intimidate you? Do you not like Beastmen? Are you a racist?"
The room fell silent. Dozens of eyes, human and non-human alike, fixed on me with unsettling intensity. My throat went dry.
How in hell did I land in this mess on my first day?
A voice like rolling thunder cut through the tension. "Sarwan! Stop terrorizing the new meat."
The entire room erupted in laughter. Sarwan released my hand, his stern expression dissolving into a hoot of amusement.
"Oh, you should have seen your face! Priceless!"
My heart hammered against my ribs as a massive Leo Beastman filled the doorway. Captain Gozzax Thunderwound stood at least two-and-a-half meters tall, a mountain of muscle and golden fur.
His amber eyes swept the room, his magnificent mane, streaked with distinguished gray, framing a face that commanded absolute authority. The four stars on his uniform gleamed.
"Sigh. What am I going to do with you all?" the Captain rumbled, though a hint of a smile played on his lips.
"Enough. Let's begin." He glanced at me. "My apologies, Theophanes. Introductions will have to wait."
A snicker came from the back. The Captain's gaze sharpened, and the sound died instantly. You could have heard a feather drop.
"It's fine, Sir. Please, call me Theo," I managed.
"Good. While the brass isn't around, you can all call me Thunder. Now, let's start."
The meeting was a masterclass in efficient leadership. Thunder reviewed ongoing cases with a sharp, analytical mind, offering pointed advice. The main focus was a new, dangerous drug called "Rainbow Dust." The assigned detectives—an elf named Legolas and a dwarf named Gimli, who sat as far from each other as possible—gave a frustrating report. No leads on production, distribution, or dealers.
"The lab results are a dead end. Nothing. I trust you two can handle this," Thunder said, his tone leaving no room for failure. "Or I will assign more people to your task force. Understood?"
They nodded in grim unison. "Yes, Sir."
"Meeting adjourned!"
As the room emptied, Thunder's voice stopped me. "Theo! My office. Now."
I followed his immense form into the office, a spartan space dominated by his large desk. There were no guest chairs—a deliberate choice, I suspected. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a frame that seemed to strain the very fabric of his shirt.
"First, welcome to the 1st Precinct, Solomon," he began, taking my transfer papers and signing them with a flourish.
"It's official." He then opened a file I knew well—my personnel record. His golden eyes scanned the pages. "I did my homework. I like to know who's working for me. Graduated top of your class at seventeen. Patrol officer at the 22nd for two years, then detective. Made First Class in record time. How?"
He looked at me, not with suspicion, but with intense curiosity. I understood the unspoken question: corruption or nepotism?
"The 22nd had a critical shortage, Sir. Captain Rodrick fast-tracked me due to my academy scores. I passed the exam for Second Class, and the promotion to First Class came after I met the service requirements and clearance benchmarks."
He nodded, a satisfied grunt rumbling in his chest. "Impressive. A 90% closure rate. A Medal of Bravery. Numerous commendations." Then his expression shifted, the professional admiration softening into something more somber. He had reached the beginning of my file.
"You were orphaned at two. Parents killed..." He looked up, and I saw it—the pity I'd spent a lifetime dodging. "The perpetrator was non-human. Never found."
"Sir, my past hasn't aided my career. Everything I've accomplished—"
He held up a massive hand, stopping me. "Let me be clear, Theo. I never assumed it did. I'm impressed you've become so exceptional despite such a tragedy." His gaze was sincere, stripping away my defensiveness.
He reminded me of Captain Rodrick—a man who saw the detective, not the victim.
"You became a detective to find your parents' killer, didn't you?"
"I'd be lying if I said otherwise," I admitted, the old, cold fire burning in my gut.
"I know. And I won't stand in your way." He stood, opened a secure cabinet, and placed a medium-sized case file box on the desk. On its side, in stark, typed letters, was the legend: CASE #0023X - ADAMS, ALISTAIR & ELARA.
My breath hitched. This was it. The sealed cold case, accessible only to a First Class detective at this precinct. The entire reason for my transfer.
"You have my permission to work on this. But," his voice hardened, "you will be 100% focused on your active assignments. If your performance slips, I will take this box away. Is that clear?"
"Crystal, Sir."
"Second. The perpetrator was non-human. In Dike, your colleagues were mostly human. Here, the opposite is true. Will that be a problem?"
I met his gaze squarely, the truth easy to summon. "Sir, I spent fifteen years in an orphanage with three hundred kids of every species you can imagine. It wasn't a race that killed my parents. It was a murderer."
A genuine, broad smile spread across the Captain's leonine features. "Good."
He handed me the box. It felt heavier than it looked.
"Welcome to Solomon." His hand enveloped mine in a shake that was firm, yet carefully measured.
"SARWAN! GET IN HERE!" The roar was so sudden I nearly jumped out of my skin.
As if materializing from the shadows, Sarwan was suddenly at my elbow. "You bellowed, Captain?"
The Captain slid a new case file across the desk. "Robbery at Dixie's Dryad Apothecary on Latiner Street. Substantial loss. You and Theo are on it. As of now, you're partners." His eyes narrowed.
"Any objections?"
Sarwan and I exchanged a glance. His owl eyes blinked once, slowly. I saw no malice there, only a sharp, curious intelligence.
"No, Sir!" we said in unison.
"Good. Theo, here are your requisition papers. Get your gear from the basement—new badge, sidearm. Sarwan will show you the ropes and your new desk. Take the one next to his. Dismissed."
We saluted and stepped out into the bustling bullpen. I clutched the box containing my past in one hand and the file representing my future in the other. The hunt was finally beginning.